


The Dance (Cardan's POV)

by lazyperfectionistteen, TheQueenofMirth



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Book 1: The Cruel Prince, Feelings, POV Cardan Greenbriar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyperfectionistteen/pseuds/lazyperfectionistteen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenofMirth/pseuds/TheQueenofMirth
Summary: Cadan’s POV in Dain’s never-gonna-happen-coronation, when he dances with Jude.





	The Dance (Cardan's POV)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a The Folk of the Air’s Fanfic. The original work belongs to Holly Black.

I see them together through a crowd of dancers, but that's not what makes my feet move before I get a chance to think about it. What compels me is her face, her confusion, her discomfort. It’s known that he will make her cry just like he made Nicasia.

Jude Duarte, the mortal I could not frighten, could not even push back. The one I could not defeat. Locke would be the one who would make her cry.

I could not let him have all.

But when I get to them and Locke looks at me, I see that she was the one that actually unnerved him.

Just as I could not defeat her, neither could he.

"Time to change partners." My tone is not nice. And that's not a request. "Oh, did I steal your line?"

By deference, because I'm a prince, Jude Duarte is delivered to me and we dance.

As if it could be that easy.

The protagonist of my most shameful dreams in my arms, close yet not close enough. Part of me wonders why I've never done this before. Now, it seems obvious that if I want to best her in anything, dancing is a good battleground. Her lack of experience is shameful.

Jude should dance more.

She analyzes me. That reminds me one of the many reasons I have to not like her. Jude does not look at me like I’m a Faerie prince. No, that's not exactly it. She looks at me like being a Faerie prince means nothing. That is worse, so much worse. This mortal looks at me like she can see me and she is not impressed at all.

Even so, dancing with her is tempting.  _ I'm tempted _ . I want dance with her until she can no longer dance. No one will take her from my arms, if I do not let her go. If I do not stop, she would neither. Jude would dance until her feet bleed. She is a mortal. It’s not like someone could put their eyes on her and do not see the obvious. Everything about her is mortal. Her salty smell. Her hips. Her warm hand. Her eyes. I want to touch her to find out if she is as soft as she looks. And I need to know that she likes it and wants it back.

I want this so much. I've became more pathetic than ever. I can not forget the shame of the night  when Valerian gave her fairy fruit and then those fools made fun of her. Like it was not a disgrace that they had to drug her to have a chance against a mere mortal. Neither can I forget, my complete despair to find what it's like to be kissed by her, to be desired by her. Even though I knew it was meaningless and pitiful.

I do not know how I got so low, even for me. Neither do I know why.  
But here I am.

"What you want? Go ahead. Insult me."

_ I do not want that, I to want dance with you _ .

My eyebrows rise in amazement with my own thoughts. Of course I do not say any of that.

"I don’t take commands from mortals" That's my answer, enough of truth and evasion.

"So you're going to say something nice?"

_ Not if I can help it, Jude. _

"I don’t think so."

_ Smart of you. _

"Faeries can’t lie."

_ And yet we are really good at deceiving. _

When she was in Locke's arms, she was disturbed by him. Now, all that I can see is the usual aggression reserved only for me. Like I could get Locke out of someone's thoughts. Like I could replace him as he replaced me in Nicasia’s thoughts. In my own way.

I am too distracted by the intoxicating sensation of it to  restraint myself. My hand go down goes down to her hip. I'm about to press her against me, however, I am immediately reminded, by the narrowing of her eyes, that Jude Duarte is not like the folk. She will not giggle and do whatever I want because I am a prince. No. If she knows what I'm thinking, she would laugh at me, despise me and shame me.

I cannot afford to be so close to her. Or, forget that we are not alone. Which is exactly what is happening. Maybe dancing is not such a safe battleground after all.

"You really hate me, don't you?" My smile grows. I'm amazed at my own foolishness.

"Almost as much as you hate me." And those words set me on fire. A part of me - the depraved one - likes them. Because if there's a chance that her hate could resemble my own.... I do not dare give my thoughts a shape.

Cursed be the day we were alone together.

I take my leave.

I'm not drunk enough. But that, unlike most things in my life, I could change.

**Author's Note:**

> When I think of Cardan in love with Jude, I think about a confused boy. Disoriented and erratic feelings, two-faced thoughts. Everything being very ambiguous and this is what I tried to show here.


End file.
